To Care For Wounds (Without Reopening Them)
by deletrear
Summary: Fear and happiness are both equally as earth-shattering in his body, and even after all this time, he still isn't sure which category Gon belongs to — Killua/Gon.


**pairing:** Killua/Gon  
 **words:** 4,017  
 **disclaimer:** disclaimed.  
 **dedication:** this one goes out to my best friend **janogurt** who asked for a killugon story and shall receive it.  
 **notes:** i just wanted my sons to be happy, what else is there to it? also this is so unedited and i wrote it in 2 hours #havemercy. shameless self-indulgence.

 **title:** to care for wounds (without reopening them)  
 **summary:** Fear and happiness are both equally as earth-shattering in his body and even after all this time, he still isn't sure which category Gon belongs to — Killua/Gon

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On the edge of a cliff by a lonesome ocean sits a small, pale cottage.

It is an open place, all curtains and windows and sea-salt breeze, built on the bones of an abandoned summer getaway, molded back into a home by two boys barely out of their teens. Gon had discovered it by accident during one of his jobs, had seen beauty in the rotted wood and rusted hinges, and rebuilt it with his own two hands, nurturing it until it blossomed into something worth coming back to.

(But Gon's always been good at that — the rebuilding, the stitching and bandaging, caring for the broken and battered and seeing the worthiness in the worthless. He has been since they first met. Killua knows everything about Gon, right down to the callouses on his toes, but this was the very first thing on a long-list that he ever learned. He knows it first-hand.)

There is salt in the breeze this morning, blowing and dancing with their curtains, _shh-shh_ , and he can hear the ocean kissing the bottom of the cliff as if he were right beside it. Killua opens his eyes to see the room shining in the morning light, glistening artifacts from Gon's adventures, their pale walls distilling the sun's rays and making everything seem impossibly dazzling.

Sometimes, privately, he struggles to understand how this is his life, how this is his room and his house and his bed because everything is so, _so_ bright and Killua knows that he wasn't meant for it, that he was forged in the shadows of murder, and he _shouldn't fit_ but it's just so easy to forget that in this new life of his with nothing to remind him.

He hears the sliding door open, knows that it means Gon is home, and something tightens and relaxes in his chest. Even after all this time — _fifteen years, has it really been so long?_ — there is still a gaping wound left from Gon's departure, from his carelessness and selfishness that will only ever be half-healed, but it aches less and less whenever Gon comes back to him.

Killua's reluctant to leave his bed but he's missed Gon more than he can quantify, so he gets up and trots into the kitchen.

The first thing he sees is Gon's wide, strong back to him, his clunking backpack slung over his shoulder. His outfit is dirty, red dirt and mud and salt water from the trek up the beach to the house clutching to the bottom of his pants, but that's the worst of it. There's no sign of injuries or even a bandage. He's also humming a jovial tune under his breath, a familiar one that Killua feels like he hasn't heard in years even though Gon's only been gone for two months.

He doesn't think the morning could get any better. And then Gon turns around. His amber eyes brigthen at the sight of him.

"Killua! Sorry, did I wake you?" He shrugs off his backpack and lets it impact the ground with a sharp jingling noise. Killua doesn't bother with an answer, filled with a need to _touch_ , to _hold_ , _I only want to be where you are (alwayswhereyouare)_. They're chest to chest between one breath and the next, Gon on his tip-toes and Killua bending over, sharing a long, closed-mouth kiss. Gon is flushed when they break away, grinning shamelessly, and though he's fairing no better, Killua's smug at the sight.

"Hi." Gon says warmly.

"Hey." Killua breathes, brushing his thumbs over the plains of Gon's face. There is a scar over his temple that Killua's fingers revisit over and over. His mind is stuttering like a broken record over his name, _Gon, Gon, Gon, Gon, Gon_. "How'd your job go?"

Gon leans into his touch and hums. "It went good! I found my client's son no worse for wear in under two days! I ended up doing a few other side jobs, though." He smiles apologetically at this. "Sorry it took me so long to get back but I couldn't say no to anyone."

Killua couldn't ever resent Gon for his compassion or his job. While both of them were Hunters with careers primarily centered around finding people, Gon was the one who specialized in bringing the lost and hiding back home to loved ones, whereas Killua leaned toward to bring home corpses for pay. It works for them.

He rolls his eyes. "Don't apologize, Gon. I'm not mad."

"I'm not apologizing for forgiveness, Killua! I'm apologizing for making you wait. There's a _difference_." Like Killua doesn't already know that.

"I know. It's okay." Killua shakes his head. Gon has a stubborn look in his eyes that he knows well — Gon will try and convince Killua of something, probably his worth, but Killua doesn't need to hear it. Not today. He pulls back but keeps their arms pressed together. "Bring anything back?"

Gon doesn't look away, gaze half-old-sadness, half-searching, half-something-else-entirely, before finding something that convinces him that Killua's okay. He heaves his bulging backpack onto the counter and unzips it, chattering all the way. He visited the Alps, apparently, and stumbled upon ruins of an ancient city.

"I called Satotz-san to take care of it, it's not like I was just going to _leave it there_ , and he gave me something in payment. It's really cute and I could barely fit it in my pack but then I remembered that folding trick Aunt Mito taught me, about rolling your clothes up — you know the one, right? — and I managed to get it in — … "

He brings out what looks like a golden statuette of a monkey, hollow judging by the sound of the thunk it makes when it hits the counter, but Killua's not focusing much on it. Gon's voice is thrumming with energy that resonates, ensnares him, and Killua is so _in love_ with him that it _hurts._

(Gon's jawline is sharp like glass and his body is hard and stocky but he is so impossibly _soft_ , not just to Killua but to _everyone_ , and he is _beautiful. God_ , is he beautiful.)

"— llua? Killua? Hey, you okay? Are you still tired?" Gon stops waving his hand in front of Killua's face and chuckles. "You can go back to sleep, you know. I'll still be here when you wake up." His eyes do a funny little shutter that's not funny at all when Killua thinks about why.

When Killua doesn't respond, Gon repeats himself, voice grave and apologetic and unyielding. It's a promise, suddenly, and even though Killua doesn't trust anyone's word these days, he always makes an effort to when it comes to Gon.

"I'll be here when you wake up."

 _(It's such a little thing.)_

Killua huffs and winds his arms around Gon, hands resting clasped on the small of his back. "I know, I know, sheesh. There's no need to tell me that all the time, I'm not the stupid one."

But he'd be lying if he said it didn't help.

As usual, Gon hears what Killua doesn't say (has never said, _will never say_ ) and laughs. "Okay, then, since _you're_ the 'smart one', I'll bite. _This time_."

Killua rolls his eyes and jabs Gon lightly in the ribs. He grumbles a half-hearted _"don't be an idiot, idiot"_ that makes his boyfriend laugh. He's helpless but to smile at the sound.

Killua squirms but does not protest when Gon suddenly begins kiss his face, every part that his lips can reach: his chin, the underside of his jaw, his cheeks, nose, the shell of his ear. Killua can feel his smile pressed against his skin.

"Ne, Killua," Gon begins, still mapping the lines of Killua's face with his mouth, "do you'd want to go down to the beach with me? Because I think I saw a turtle on my way up, do you think they're hiding their eggs? Hey, Killua, d'ya think we could watch them?"

—

There's a small garden plot in their backyard.

Somehow, the saltwater hasn't withered the roots and killed all the bushes, and he knows Gon's glad about it. Their beach house is isolated and so unlike the dungeons Killua was raised in and the dirt and soil Gon was sown in, so the wild bushes and poisonous weeds are a welcome splash of green. Gon doesn't tend to them like an average gardener would. He doesn't pull out the weeds or trim the bushes, and the thorns of their wild roses are unbloodied. It's free and untamed, a little piece of the forest home that both children grew up around, and it's good.

(Also, the lack of dirt means a lack of ants, and they're both grateful for it. It's a small thing because the Ants were half-human monstrosities and there's a world of difference between them and the insects crawling up out of the ground but some days it's harder to see what separates them. They never talk about it but really, why would they need to? Neither has forgotten. They couldn't.)

Neither men have much of an opinion of flowers — Killua admits that he still has trouble seeing things for their beauty and not their use, and pretty flowers have never done much to help him bring a bounty back — but Gon always picks some from the bush to bring inside. There are no vases in the house because Gon's not interested in the preservation, just the idea. He picks chrysanthemums and dandelions, brings home half-crushes daisies and pressed red cammelias. Gloxinia's for love at first sight, magenta zinnia's for lasting affection.

Although Killua blushes and splutters every time — _"Why are you giving me flowers like I'm some sort of girl?" "Again, Gon? Seriously?" "They're just going to wilt, you know."_ — he takes care of them. He never lets them remain behind his ear, which is where Gon will always put them, but whenever he slips the flowers into his pocket his hand stays with it, clenched around the stem. He keeps it safe under his pillow until the petals wilt and die, and keeps it still.

Gon speaks his mind. He has a loose tongue and a thick skull that keeps him from realizing whether what he's said is wrong or exactly what someone needed to hear, and even though age has made him better at balancing his _too-thick-too-perceptive_ mindset, he'll never be perfect at it.

It makes the flowers all the more special.

Gon is declaring something with every plucked flower, _I'm sorry, I love you, I'll always love you, let's take a chance on happiness, ne, Killua?_ , and he needs Killua to accept it. He's never said so, he's never even hinted at the flower exchanging being anymore than a whimsical decision that's accidentally become habit whenever a bush is in bloom, but he doesn't have to. The hope and relief on his face whenever Killua blushes and stammers and gently hides the gifts in his pocket speak loud enough.

Now, Killua sits in a hotel room hunched over a table decorated in print-outs from the Hunters website, learning about his target and putting his assassin childhood into good use in honest work (or, at least, honest-er work in comparison to _being an assassin_ ). Gon should have just arrived at Azia and will be searching for someone's missing father for a minimum of three months, so Killua has bounties and contacts and deals lined up under the table to keep him occupied for the time being.

(It isn't that Killua can't live in their beach house without Gon — their jobs drag them out into the world for long-term so it's not like Killua had much of a choice in being independent — but the house is emptier without Gon, feels less and less like home the longer he's away, so Killua keeps his distance when it's necessary. He prefers to be miserable outside their home by the ocean; he will not taint that too. He won't.)

His beetle phone vibrates just as he's parsing through his bounty's list of known associates. The screen of his mobile is so bright it's like staring directly into the sun, but Killua's used to that feeling — somewhat — and adjusts quickly. It's 4:19 AM, and he's been at it for fourteen hours, reading and reading and reading, and it's about time for him to go to bed.

But first, he checks his new email — Spam for _100% Vegan! Morgan Tellibeth's Vegan, Environmentally Friendly Quick-Meals_ that means Gon's used Killua's personal email to sign up for a group that's obviously fraud again — before opening up his messages. It's a familiar sight, the screen with his life partner's name at the top, and he smiles.

He misses Gon. He messages him —

 _How's the job? Killed any monarchs this year? — 4:20 AM_

 _4:20 AM — 420 blaze it (for you) haha_

 _4:20 AM — Oh! Killua youre awake too thats awesome!_

— and laughs when he receives a message at the same time he sends one. His hand disappears into his pocket and clutches the brown stem of the forget-me-not Gon had plucked from the dirt to give him. It's been a week since then — it's long dead, but the white-hot affection resting in his chest is burning as bright as ever.

God, he misses him.

 _Isn't it midnight where you are? Go to sleep. You're working. — 4:21 AM_

 _4:23 AM — yea its only tuesday morning for me but Im pretty sure its_

 _4:23 AM — really late where you are and just because you can survive_

 _4:23 AM — on three hours sleep doesn't mean you should killua! thats stupid!_

 _I was going to sleep! Just wanted to say goodnight… I guess… — 4:25 AM_

 _4:27 AM — youre sweet i love you_

 _… You too. Anyway, good night. Don't be an imbecile in front of your client. — 4:27 AM_

 _4:29 AM — thats so mean you know i can't help it sometimes_

 _4:30 AM — goodnight killua! have sweet dreams!xoxo_

It's only three months, he reminds himself. What's three months compared to three years? They've done this before, this song and dance, but it was world-shaking when he was young and 12 and bleeding with the pain of it and it hasn't gotten any easier since then.

He knows it never will.

—

He has no idea what to call the upside-down tremors of an almost-earthquake Gon does to him, the ones that hurt and squeeze and pinch, but he knows what happiness feels like now, knows that it feels like this _(but so does fear)_ and with that in mind, Killua doesn't know how to care. Gon's all-encompassing, the air that goes into Killua's lungs, the light that cuts through the curtains in the morning. Gon is an archaeologist, a finder, and Killua is the battlefields of shards in the dust. They were always meant to find each other.

(Picasso never intended for things to fit just so. Men like Gon scour for proof of ruined civilizations, and Killua was as ruined as they come. He is a mosaic of stained glass, pieced together by the hands of the only one with the power to shatter him.)

But Killua's not as young as he once was.

He's older now, wizened by years of Blacklist Hunting and those three years he spent raising his little sister on the run, and he's grown into his body. He knows that he is sharp and broken and that there is a darkness inside of him that he must maintain a conscious effort to keep at bay.

(For all that Killua's spent the last ten years of his life redefining himself, he's never _ever_ pretended that this darkness wasn't something so intrinsically part of him. _Never_.)

Killua is aware of his faults, but he has things that he is proud of now:

He has Alluka, who lives on the outskirts of cities, in the caves behind waterfalls and the canopies of the Brecillian rain forests with Palm, who smiles and breathes and _lives_ , happy and free like she's always deserved to be.

He has two best friends who are more family to him than his own parents; he has Leorio, who reads story books to sick children in hospitals and calls Killua 'little bro' and Kurapika, who lost his ability to use Nen with the death of the Spiders but laughs freely in a way he hadn't been able to with the death of his clan hanging over him.

He has his Hatsu, ever-evolving and as sharp as ever, and he has his cottage by the ocean, but perhaps most important is that he has all those things _and Gon_.

(No, he's always had Gon, even when he thought he didn't. What he means to say is this: he's worthy of Gon now — and it doesn't matter much that it took Gon fallen from the pedestal Killua had placed him on to do it, not anymore. No, wait, _that_ doesn't sound right either…)

(No, no, _no_. It doesn't matter what sounds right. _It doesn't_. The only thing that does is that they're _equal_ now and everything is different but nothing's changed; not the important parts, at least.)

Gon grabs his hand, eyes content and calm and warm. Unlike Killua, he isn't looking at the ocean. Killua can feel his eyes burning into the side of his head.

Killua flushes under the attention and shifts uncomfortably. He doesn't hold Gon's hand, but the fact that he hasn't torn his own hand out of the grip is more than enough acceptance. He's never had to apologize for it before, but now he _really_ doesn't. He's done apologizing. He waits for the day Gon is too.

"Killua…"

He hopes today is that day.

"Yeah?"

Gon's tugging on his hand insistently, so Killua drags his eyes away from the ocean and stares back at him. There is a calmness on Gon's face that is relieving; like the stillness of water finally settling after a storm — Gon's storm may have been fifteen years long, mostly self-inflicted, but it's over now. He can see it. ( _He can almost taste it.)_

"If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes?"

Killua snorts. What a stupid question. "What type of question is that? Of course I would." Killua's eyes roam over Gon's face. He finds something there that makes him suck in a breath, makes him hold it. "… Why are you asking?"

Gon shrugs, a small smile making his face seem younger. All these years and that's the one thing that's never changed about him. It's just as genuine as the first time Killua received it. "Just wanted to know, I guess. For future reference."

He's smiling now. "You thinking about proposing or what? You can't just come out and drop something like that on me without a proper explanation, you know."

Gon's grin is so wide it might split his lip. "And if I was? If I told you that I've been thinkin' bout it for a while? What then, Killua?"

And Killua — _well_ , Killua's made of sharp bits, of jagged ends and blood stuck under his nails, but Gon never seems to mind. He's never seemed to mind, not even when he was 12 and naive and Killua was 12 and struggling with his blood-lust. They've risked so much for each other, have done even more, and the love he feels is insurmountable. Killua cannot ever hope to quantify, to hold it in his hands and restrain it.

So he doesn't.

He squeezes Gon's hand so hard he worries he's cutting off circulation.

"If you were to tell me that, then I guess I'd have to tell you that I've been thinking about the exact same thing, and then we could laugh about how crazy a coincidence it is. Does that sound alright to you?"

Gon's eyes are wide. His jaw is nearly unhinged with how wide his mouth is, and there's a glistening-shining to his eyes that Killua's well-acquainted with. He thinks Gon might be vibrating with excitement, or even love if Killua were inclined to allow himself the embarrassing thought, but that may just be wishful thinking.

Gon whispers his name like a prayer, _"Killua…"_ , reverent. He looks prepared to get down on his knees and worship him, to build a church in his names. It makes Killua blush but he doesn't scramble to reclaim his words. He's learning not to regret things these days and it's getting easier. He doesn't take it back.

He smiles at Gon and thinks, _Thank you for loving me. Thank you for letting me love you. Thank you for everything_.

Gon's shoulders settle and his back straightens like a soldier given orders. His face is grim, a stubborn set to his jaw, and butterflies rampage in Killua's stomach. He knows what's going to happen before it does. He thinks he may just explode with the pressure building inside of him. He's leaking his excitement like an overflowing cup.

Gon says, _declares_ , "Killua, will you mar — "

"Yes." Says Killua, the corners of his mouth stretching from ear-to-ear. Gon looks like he doesn't know whether to be annoyed at the interruption or to burst into tears. The water builds in his eyes, so it might be the latter, but it's okay. _It's okay_ , because Killua will be right there with him. He doesn't want to be anywhere else.

Gon laughs, a full-bodied one that rings out like a gong, deep and loud. "Really, Killua? You'll marry me? Seriously?" He doesn't look like he knows what's happening. In fact, Gon has a stupid look on his face that's a combination of smitten and _surely this is a dream — a good one, yes — but a dream nonetheless_.

It's unacceptable, so Killua swallows the lump in his throat, draws Gon in closer, and nods. He presses their foreheads together, anchoring them both to reality, to this beach and the tides reaching up to kiss the shore, to the wind chimes distantly ringing from their cottage on the cliff, and whispers, "Yes, Gon. It's always yes with you."

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End file.
